THE BLEEDING-HEART
By Annie Fellows Johnston
In days of old， when all things in the Wood had speech， therelived within its depths a lone Flax-spinner. She was a bentold creature， and ill to look upon， but all the tongues of all theforest leaves were ever kept a-wagging with the story of herkindly deeds. And even to this day they sometimes whisperlow among themselves （because they fain would hold in mindso sweet a tale） the story of her kindness to the little orphan，Olga.
’twas no slight task the old Flax-spinner took upon herself，the day she brought the helpless child to share the shelterof her thatch. The Oak outside her door held up his arms insolemn protest.
“Thou dost but waste thyself，” he said. “Thy benefits will beforgot， thy labours unrequited. For Youth is ever but anothertitle for Ingratitude.”
“Nay， friend，” the old Flax-spinner said. “My little Olga willnot be ungrateful and forgetful.”
All hedged about with loving care， the orphan grew togracious maidenhood， and felt no lack of father， mother，brother or sister. In every way the old Flax-spinner took theirplaces. But many were the sacrifices that she made to keep herfed and warmly clad， and every time she went without herselfthat Olga might receive a greater share， Wiseacre Oak lookeddown and frowned and shook his head.
Then would the old dame hasten to her inner room， andthere she pricked herself with her spindle， until a great reddrop of her heart’s blood fell into her trembling hand. Withwitchery of words she blew upon it， and rolled it in her palm，and muttering， turned and turned and turned it. And as the spellwas laid upon it， it shrivelled into a tiny round ball like a seed，and she strung it on a thread where were many others like it，saying， “By this she will remember. She will not be ungratefuland forgetful.”
So years went by， and Olga grew in goodness and in beauty，and helped the old Flax-spinner in her tasks as blithely and aswillingly as if she were indeed her daughter. Every morningshe brought water from the spring， gathered the wild fruits ofthe woods， and spread the linen on the grass to bleach. At suchtimes would the bent old foster-mother hold herself erect， andcall up to the Oak， “Dost see？ Thou’rt wrong！ Youth is not another title for Ingratitude.”
“Thou hast not lived as long as I，” would be the only answer.
One day as Olga was wandering by the spring， searchingfor watercresses， the young Prince of the castle rode by on hisprancing charger. A snow-white plume waved in his hat， anda shining silver bugle hung from his shoulder， for he had beenfollowing the chase.
He was thirsty and tired， and asked for a drink， but there wasno cup with which to dip the water from the spring. But Olgacaught the drops as they bubbled out from the spring， holdingthem in the hollow of her beautiful white hands， and reaching upto where he sat， offered him the sparkling water. So gracefullywas it done， that the Prince was charmed by her modest manneras well as her lovely face， and baring his head when he hadslaked his thirst， he touched the white hands with his lips.
Before he rode away he asked her name and where shelived. The next day a courier in scarlet and gold stopped at thedoor of the cottage and invited Olga to the castle. Princessesand royal ladies from all over the realm were to be entertainedthere， seven days and seven nights. Every night a grand ballwas to be given， and Olga was summoned to each of the balls.
It was because of her pleasing manner and her great beautythat she had been bidden.
The old Flax-spinner courtesied low to the courier andpromised that Olga should be at the castle without fail.
“But， good dame，” cried Olga， when the courier had gone，“prithee tell me why thou didst make such a promise， knowingfull well this gown of tow is all I own. Wouldst have me standbefore the Prince in beggar’s garb？ Better to bide at home foraye than be put to shame before such guests.”
“Have done， my child！” the old dame said. “Thou shalt weara court robe of the finest. Years have I toiled to have it ready，but that is naught. I loved thee as my own.”
Then once more the old Flax-spinner went into her innerroom， and pricked herself with her spindle till another greatred drop of her heart’s blood fell into her trembling hand. Withwitchery of words she blew upon it， and rolled it in her palm，and muttering， turned and turned and turned it. And as thespell was laid upon it， it shrivelled into a tiny round ball like aseed， and she strung it on to a thread， where were many otherslike it. Seventy times seven was the number of beads on thisstrange rosary.
When the night of the first ball rolled around， Olga combedher long golden hair and twined it with a wreath of snowy waterlilies，and then she stood before the old dame in her dress oftow. To her wonderment and grief she saw there was no silkenrobe in waiting， only a string of beads to clasp around her whitethroat. Each bead in the necklace was like a little shrivelledseed， and Olga’s eyes filled with tears of disappointment.
“Obey me and all will be well，” said the old woman.
“When thou reachest the castle gate clasp one bead in thyfingers and say：
“‘For love’s sweet sake， in my hour of need，Blossom and deck me， little seed.’
Straightway right royally shalt thou be clad. But remembercarefully the charm. Only to the magic words， ‘For love’ssweet sake’ will the necklace give up its treasures. If thoushouldst forget， then thou must be doomed always to wear thygown of tow.”
So Olga sped on her moon-lighted way through the forestuntil she came to the castle gate. There she paused， and graspinga bead of the strange necklace between her fingers， repeatedthe old dame’s charm：
“For love’s sweet sake， in my hour of need，Blossom and deck me， little seed.”